


Changing Weather

by SketchLockwood



Category: 15th Century CE RPF, The White Queen (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-03
Updated: 2014-09-12
Packaged: 2018-02-16 00:03:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2248443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SketchLockwood/pseuds/SketchLockwood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A/U Warwick wins at Barnet when the yorkist lords flee. What happens after?</p><p>(Contains reference to and some violence)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Barnet 1471

"What?" Warwick's voice was hopeful, even as he looked at Johnnies bloodstained armour, already crusting dark with the hardening flakes of human life source. Some sacrifices were worth making, sacrifices were made in war. "You're sure?" He pressured the young page, watching as the boy nodded nervously. Was this treason? "Where? Show me, Jesu but boy if you show me a purse of gold is in it for you." 

They didn't tarry, running through the field where several men still fought, not realising it was all over. The boy and Warwick entered the woods, thick trees darkening their paths. Never once did it occur to the earl that indeed this was a trap. So easy that would have been, dark and secluded. No one would hear them scream, no one would much care. But he followed the boy as though already the lad had earned his trust. Eventually they reached the break, the smell of smoke filling nostrils, the crackle of flames tickling the ear and a piercing scream, blood curdling. It warned Warwick of the horrors ahead. He spared the boy for all his mercy, handing him the gold with a muttered curse he booted the boy back onto his path. Stealth precision then carried him on, through the break in the balk. His steeled feet were silent as he slipped into view.

His breath caught before it released. On the floor bound in chains and kneeling was the man he had desperately wanted to see. Anger burning like hatred in deep brown eyes. "Brother, so pleased I am to see you." 

There was a pause before his captive spat insult upon the floor. "Now now, less of that or I'll have your tongue sooner so you cannot spit on me. Foul spawn of Satan and his minions." Warwick's gauntlet struck the younger mans face. "Fool be you brother. Did you truly think you could win? Pitiful." there was malice in his voice, coating every word with a rich bitterness. 

"Once you were a man of few words but much wisdom. Now sir, you just exceed yourself." The voice was quiet, but with pity not pain. Their eyes met despite this most unexpected topic. "To think, I actually respected you once." 

"Silence yourself, Johnny!" Warwick paced around their captive, meeting the shadowy figure perched by a huge oak. "Has he said aught useful since you laid hand upon him?"

"Nothin' much Dick. A mutter here. A thousand times I am a traitor." It was as those words were said that Warwick saw the pain in his accomplices eyes as he moved away with a staggering limp. 

"Pay him no credence." Warwick approached their prisoner, pulling his head sharply back. "Where is the usurper?" No reply, he tried for strength. A hard kick in the ribs. "Where!" 

"King Henry? Tis' a pity his protector dunnet know." There was mockery in the mans tone. Mockery Warwick didn't like. 

"Edward, where is Edward?" 

"I will tell you that over my dead body." 

"Oh if you insist brother, if you insist." Warwick turned away for a moment, hands balling into tight fists. "Take him to the Tower, wring it out of him if you must." 

It was passing strange that no sobbing was heard as the man was dragged away. 

 

***

2 days later.  
Gloucestershire 

Running, that would spare him long enough at least to reach the relative safety of London. The pattern had been simple, snappy and at first effective. Run, stop, run, shelter. Barely two days had passed since the conflict at Barnet, already he had lost too many. Will at Barnet itself. George, quite unsurprisingly on the road to London and Anthony last night. Thomas and Richard Grey were still among the missing. Edward looked to his left, hearing the muttering and the rustle of leaves as Richard rolled in his sleep, slapping a hand down on discarded flora as he muttered. 

Even in situations dire, life was full of little pleasures. 

England's king shedded his cloak and wrapped the wool around his shaking brother as they rested beneath the relative shelter of a tall oak. How ironic he thought, there is oft good company beneath an oak. 

Richard pulled the cloak around himself tighter, hugging it in his arms as he hugged his children. A smile broke on Edwards lips as he prodded the ashes of the now dying fire with his boot. Cursing as the leather blistered. He pulled away the pewter container of wine he had been warming, taking a gulp. 

Elizabeth... Damn Elizabeth. That was why he was here, and missing his son. His only son. He cursed loud enough for Richard to stir, the younger brother jumped as his eyes flew open. "Ned?!" his heart was visibly racing, calmed as he heard the soft chuckling. 

"Peace Dickon. I am fine. Tis passing strange but tis well."

"What are you talking about?" fighting the cold Richard clambered to his fight, pulling the cloak around himself. He caught the pewter in his brothers hand. "Are.you drunk?"

"Aye." Edward almost giggled stifling a belch, trying to get to his feet but falling from either exhaustion or too much wine. Silently Richard guessed the latter. "But.." his words were beginning to slur. "At least I am warm. Ah, dont look so seeious bruder." he laughed, clapping Richards back. "I mean, you look as if we are dead already."

"You jest as though we should be." Richards tone was deadly serious. "Im surprised we are not." he shook the container hearing the precious few drops. "That's the last of our supplies till London." 

"Then shat up and drink it." finally Edward was on his feet, using branches to hold his tall frame upright. "Be warm and happy at least. And give me tha' cloak. You look ridiclus'."

"You mean ridiculous?"

"Monsieur le Pedantic." He stumbled, laughing. Richard was amazed that even when drunk, his brothers French still sounded regal and elegant. It didn't quash his growing impatience. 

"Speak English!" 

"Non bon monsieur! Parles vous-" his words were turned to curses profane as Richard tossed the cloak with a smile as he scorched the ends and drank the remaining wine. 

"Youre right Ned, by The Virgin I am more cheerful already! Not. Arse!" He dropped the bottle helping a stumbling Edward through the trees back onto the road. How he prayed to god Warwick did not try find them now. 

***  
The Palace of Westminster, London.

The end of the same week.

"My lords, how welcome you are." Warwick spoke, looking to the Yorkist lords. They had entered London that morning, absent among their ranks were his two men of primary concern. Edward and Richard were still no where to be seen. "London threw her gates open to you, and and that does not surprise you it seems." Warwick stood, pulling on the chain that was in his hand, his prisoner silently scurried after him. The lords fell silent and their faces drained as they saw their fate ahead of them. "Fear not, he would not talk would you brother?" Warwick stroked the mans head as though he were a dog, albeit with slightly less affection. "He needed some persuading. I trust you will talk. One of you has before now." 

Anthony's eyes blazed as he looked to his brother. Richard Woodville stood proud among the Lancastrian mass. "Traitor! Richard!"

"Enough Rivers! You will only end as your good for nothing peasant of a father did if you don't tighten your tongue!" 

"But you wished I speak, my lord." the last two words smelled foul with venom. 

Warwick ignored them, eyes setting on the man currently walking towards them. "Clarence, I hardly believe my eyes." he settled for a laugh. "Not that it should surprise me. Come to beg for your place with the winning side? Now your brother is ruined you think your bet was wrong?"

"No, Warwick. I have come to stand in place for my brothers absence. I am regent whilst he is missing." 

"How very convenient for you." 

"Nay, I never wanted to be king. It has destroyed my sweet brother Ned. You wanted me to be king Warwick, to serve your own pathetic ambitions." 

"Aye, but you had ambition enough and jealousy in wealth so much you would have killed him for dearest aunt Cecily to heed you and ounce of her attentions. Let alone a pot of gold."

"Shut up!" Clarence raged, drawing a sword before being seized by strong Lancastrian arms. 

Somerset held his enemy tight. "Yes Warwick, shut up. Why do you hear their pitiful pleas? You kick the dog until it bites you, and you are wary of its bark" Somerset pressed the blade of a dagger to Georges throat. "Poor helpless creature. You should instead cut its tongue so it cannot bark to taunt you." He threw Clarence to the floor with a mighty bang before standing on the young dukes fingers with force. "Take him to the tower. Take them all." 

***

Tewkesbury 

"We are lost." Richard muttered as he jogged to keep time with his brothers impossible strides. "Does that not bother you?"

"It would but I have something more pressing bothering me." He stopped, flicking the corner of the once extravagantly elegant cloak over his shoulder to save it another coating of mud. "A pain in my arse."

"Now is not the time for your jests-"

"Youre wrong, now is just the time for my jests. Before you ask why because for the last few days I am king I can damned well do as I please and secondly Dickon, more importantly I want to die with a smile on my face and I don't want to give up hope. I don't want you to give up hope." 

Richard fell silent a moment, watching his brother choose a spot in the forest to lay his cloak and then his head. He was sleeping moments later. Richard looked through the linen cloth bag a woman had been kind enough to give them on their travels. Bread, jam and a few crumbs of cheese. The leather bottle attached to Edwards belt contained ale. Thankfully they had been spared the torture of having to quench their thirst on ominous looking water sources. For now. He set the bread down on the cloth, cutting it with the dagger at his belt. "Have the rest of the cheese yourself lad. You need your strength."

"Why Ned, there's enough for us both. If we ration ourselves. Id not deny my sovereign lord-"

"pass me bread and eat the cheese. Hastily before I am like to change my mind." 

"Most generous of your grace." they ate in silence. It was ten minutes later that Richard looked to see his brother asleep once more, snoring lightly as his dreams sent him into twitches. 

Neither of them had seen the man in the shadows until it was too late. Richard jumped to his feet drawing his weapons before the sound erupted. Men charged toward them, shouting as they ambushed. Richards arms were quickly bound despite his fighting. 

"You boys are far from home." Richard recognised the voice, for a moment she didn't recognise him. His memories of the Lancastrian queen were few. The she wolf had a voice he would never forget. "I think you can release the useless beggar." she held up a hand approaching the figure beginning to stir. Kneeling she pulled back the hood of the cloak. "I retract that comment." Richard objected as she pulled sharply up on the hood bringing Edward with it. "I must ask his lord of March... Or should I address you with your proper title? Your grace, where were you headed? To your doomed Welsh castle? When I have finished with your precious Ludlow it will be embers in the night and you? You shall be with it. But not yet." Richard shivered, watching as Edward gagged as the ice queen stroked a finger down his cheek. "A pretty face even now. So unlike York. More useless too. Tis a pity really. You could have been something."

"He is something!"

"Ah oui. We shall deal with you later." The cold male voice greeted them as Lancaster's spawn stepped into view. He took two more steps, three before he stood next to his mother. Cold eyes baring into Edward as the York king looked away. "Dont look away when I am looking at you. I am your sovereign prince!" he slapped his new prisoners cheek with such force his head span. Repeating it till blood spewed from his lips. 

"Edouard, cherie non ma bien. Non. Save some for later." she pulled on her prisoners cloaks neck clasp till he got to his feet. "He is no use if you kill him now. I want a display." She signalled for men to bind her prisoner, smiling as the ropes at his hands and feet tied to her saddle. Richard mounted the horse neighbouring her son before she followed. "Come we march to London." she didn't care as she dragged her yorkist captive behind.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Worse quality than the last chapter. Really sorry.

The Tower of London.

"I will see him." Cecily Neville's voice had been firm as she held Elizabeth's hand. Neither woman had fondness for the other, but both stood in rebellion against the current system. Cecily recalled the words her nephew had thrown at her as she followed the oversized guard into the damp and dark of the white tower dungeons. 

"You shall not aunt, for tis' no place for a lady." 

He had always been one for protecting her. Unlike his eldest brother Warwick and more like his father though, he had given in to her determined glare. She was to see her son. 

The guard unlocked a door, extending a meaty arm indicating she should pass first. "M'lady t'lef' it plea' ya." She held her head high, pulling up the hem of her gown and encouraging Elizabeth to do the same to avoid dragging expensive fabric through slush filled water. "An' a reet ere' ma'ams." 

Was it possible that with every twist the corridors got dimmer. The man stopped, knocking threw times on a door. "Ya mooter ere' to see ya scoom! Up an' as' respect!" he unbolted the door opening it. Elizabeth sobbed before she had chance to look, walking through the tiny gap as though she had been sucked. Cecily composed herself following with more dignity. She stood and listened to the slight clink of chains, the constant sound of the Thames as it lapped at away above their heads. Her eyes adjusted to the shadow, watching her eldest son breath soft breaths of mist into the air. He shivered, refusing to speak even as Elizabeth drew him close in her hug, stroking his rough cheeks. 

"We brought you fresh clothes husband. And I have a barber to shave you if that pleases you. Lightens your temper a little and Id smile." 

Cecily inwardly fumed. The woman was insufferable. Vanity strived above all else. As though her son needed a barber when tomorrow the knife would slip into his gut. He would be mutilated for the world to see. "Edward, my sweet son spare me your lady mother a single smile." she stepped forward nudging Elizabeth out of the way, kissing his cheek as she cupped his face. She felt the tears and her heart broke. 

"You heard?" He whispered, as though it were a secret or indeed a surprise. No, the only surprise was that the she wolf had called a trial at all. 

"Tomorrow, I have begged for a week Edward, then you can repent and your sins be forgiven. But no matter. Do not deny yourself confession for your stubborn desire. It will be over fast and God does love you my son. May he have mercy on your soul." 

"Richard? George?"

"They are to be moved into here in the morrow. The she wolf says you should die together, three traitors of York." Cecily's expression changed as she saw her sons hopeful expression. What were her children planning? 

Hopefully it would not get them killed sooner.

***

"Go on." The reluctance in his voice was paramount as he pushed Richard and George back into the damp cell. He should Never have let them have their walk, have their relief from this miserable. Warwick would hang him if he knew for sure. But he had taken pity all the same. Three days they had been in here and three days more they would be thanks to their mothers plea to extend their soon to be short lived lives. How he, their own kin could be one of the men to have delivered them such unkindness still confused him. He looked to Edward, sighing at the pitiful sight of a captured king. "Cousin?" When no response greeted him the shepherd entered ahead of his sheep. Richard and George looked on in amazement as their latest gailor approached the towers most valuable prisoner. "Ned dear god." Richards breath stopped as John Neville placed soft fingers to Edwards throat cursing. "Ned you need to drink. Come lad." he pulled back calling for wine. "Dickon, hand me the keys from outside the door. No funny business. And George, oh dear George... Sit there." he nodded to a newly erected bed at one side of the tiny room. "And say nothing." he took the keys from Richards hand tackling the shackles from his royal cousins wrists forcing him to sit with a groan. Stupidly he thought later; stupidly it was then he turned his back.

It was the first lesson he had learned. Never turn your back on a potential threat. The chains slipped easily around his throat pulling him up. "Ah Johnny. Youre in trouble. You cant shout for Dick and he wouldn't help if he knew. Did my dearest brother talk to you?" John Neville nodded, gasping for breath, his skin reddening from strain as his eyes bulged and watered. He begged silently for release. It came mercifully, though the iron links still sat across his throat. "And you accepted?" the chains tightened as the Marquess shook his head. "Not good enough-"

"How?" the question was choked. His gasping came to the forefront of his panic. How far would Ned take this insanity? 

"Chalk dust and dirt. Greying the skin. The rest was acting. You don't have time to play Johnny. An open door and you truly compromised if I kill you I wont hang around to hang for it. Ah ah, Dickon silence you had your chance." He indicated the youngest to keep eye. "Who knows who will bring that wine? A guard and youre clever Johnny. Doubtless you'll talk your way out of it. But if the man himself brings it? You'll be hanging with us." He looked up as George too moved to play lookout. "I am bot a violent man Johnny. Id not do this if I wasn't desperate. You have a good heart, put it to its true use." He released the chains as Johnny nodded, standing and dusting off priceless clothes. "Tomorrow, you'll let my brothers out for their walk, you will pretend they overpowered you. Bring that bitch-"

"The queen."

"The woman who mutilated our fathers and brothers Johnny. " He saw his cousin twitch nervously. "If you wish to call her queen, I cannot blame you." They shared a smile, rare these last months. "Bring her to see me. Close and lock the door. Give the keys to Dickon. He will come when the time is right and it will keep us alive long enough to survive the storm."

"Someone's coming!" George and Richard fled back into the cell flinging chains around their arms. Johnny hastened to shackle his royal prisoner who returned to his feigned look of weakness just as the man entered with a flagon of cheap wine. 

"Brother." Warwick handed over the flagon, regarding Edward with a suspicious eye. "You are sure our cousin is unwell?" 

"Does he look well Dick?" Edward assisted his cousins act, whimpering gently as Warwicks hand touched his head. "We cant execute a helpless man brother, you well know that so don't be reluctant in offering him recovery." John rose leaving the cell. "He could use air. Good food at least." Johnny looked around, turning to leave the cell quickly. It was then that Richard saw it. Murray and blue beneath his doublet. He had been for York this whole time. It was Johnny not their mother who had spared them this longitudinal


	3. Chapter 3

"Your Grace." John Neville bowed over Marguerite's hand, gently kissing delicate fingers. She looked to him with smiling eyes, despite the scowl fitted permanently to should be pretty features. "Would you care to join the dance?" 

"Non, not with yo-"

"Qui monsieur." She rose and held a hand up to her son. The boy could be foolish, too focused on the desire for power which would surely be his demise. "How very kind of you to offer my lord Montagu." She curtsied is response to his deep bow as she approached the end of the table. They turned into the empty, hollow space between the tables. Everyone fell silent as the queen called for the music to start. No one missed Warwick's displeasure as the great Earl dropped his dagger, tip first into the table. John smiled to him, had he been younger and this a day in their childhood, he would have likely shown him his tongue. "He is a fool, and arrogant. Would have me execute Gloucester and Clarence now, in the bastards blood." 

"I have always believed him Yorks son, does naught to raise my sympathy for him. Aunt Cecily is virtuous and steadfast. I will not hear it otherwise your grace."

"You are strong willed John Neville. Then he would have me execute York and cause a see of blood."

"You would not kill him? York I mean."

"Oui, I must when the time is right. But he is weak I hear. T'would be all wrong to do it now. Alas we must wait. Your brother Warwick does not like waiting."

"Patience isn't his forte." 

"I remember dancing with a strong minded patient boy at my coronation. You were barely more than a child then." She stepped in closer, avoiding the other dancers as she whispered, her hands slipping up his doublet. "Now my lord, you're a man." 

Internally he cursed the flesh. How her fingers felt, how his skin quivered, breaths paused and pleasure ran rampart. Isabel was watching with intent eyes. His loving wife was dedicated to him. Yet in recent years, naught had come of their mutual love. He smiled to her, she waved and he continued in his dance, blushing successfully at Marguerite's words. "And the rose has bloomed into one more beautiful."

"Thankfully red in its colour, not white."

"Aye, red the colour of Yorks blood." Somerset interjected as he skipped past with a merry youth upon his arm. 

"And let the leaves drip slick with that precious water." Marguerite shared a laugh with Somerset. No matter how he tried, John could not bring himself to join them. Instead his skin lost colour, becoming a deathly pallor of greys and whites. Sweat coated his forehead, his heart raced and lungs tightened. One person noticed before he hit the ground. Isabel, his wife, caught him in her arms. 

"Richard!" Warwick was by his side in a moment as Isabel screamed. "Help me getting him to bed. I told you, that it was all too much." 

"My brother should not have been dancing with his leg so damaged."

"Tis not his leg which does concern me now sir!" He awoke to her stroking his forehead lightly. "Oh John, my lord." Before the crowd she showed no shyness in kissing her husband, gripping his hand. 

"Wife, I am well. Simply... A passing flush." Using Warwicks aid he clambered to his feet, wincing as pain coursed through that cursed leg. 

"To bed husband. Passing flush or no, to bed." 

"Soon sweet Isabel. Soon. Be up yourself and I shall be there within the hour." He kissed her gently approaching the Queen once more as she looked on in a mixture of worry and amusement. "Forgive me your grace." 

"For forgetting to mention your wife was among the crowds? Sirrah it is you who should apologise to her." She flashed a darling smile, taking his hand as she walked toward the door, watching his wife's retreating figure. "Join her my lord." Her hand stroked his cheek, as though longing. 

He paused, watching the woman he loved before he turned back, taking a chance he had never expected to take. "It is not she I desire your grace." 

"But whom? She is your wife John." His queens hand slipped over the front of his hose. He shuddered, hands gripping her arms in reflex. 

"Madam you well know who I desire you play your hand so well." She smiled, stepping closer. He pushed back slightly. "But not tonight. Dawn, meet me in my apartments. No, I insist yours are too public. Isabel shall not disturb us for we shall be away." He thought for a moment she would have his head upon the bridge before she nodded. 

"Until then my lord." She looked back to the door. Somerset stood, eyes fixed upon them. "He misses the days his father was in your position my lord. Poor sweet Edmund." She began to walk back, taking Somersets arm in her own. John said nothing, but his mind mimicked her own thoughts, only he was sure it was not poor Rutland the queen grieved for. 

***

Isabel had heard of his plans and their discussions lasted long into hours of darkness supposed to be unseen. "Be sure, dear God be sure. You have taken leave of your senses I am sure. You condemn us both if you fail. Our son too. You are not trusted among these ranks husband. They are like to kill you before let you near their precious queen." It was an after thought that occurred to her as he climbed out of their bed gulping down wine out of flagon. "My god, you are not attracted to her are you? It has just occurred to me that you mat be tiring of me as a wife. My lord have I wronged you?" She looked so hurt when he looked to her he thought his heart had stopped. He placed the flagon down and approached just in time for her to throw herself down before him. "Punish me, beat me. Anything you need John, just do not tire of me." 

He scoffed bending to lift her from the floor, wiping her eyes and combing away her hair. "Sweet Belle. Ah. I do not tire of you. Shall not for I love you. I am not in the least attracted to that woman. It must be done." He took her hand in his, pulling her close with his free hand supporting her back as it arched against his weight when their lips met, passionately. His hand slipping over her breast pushed her onto the soft mattress where soon he joined her. "Let me prove I am not tired of you wife."

***

Sun lit the room three floors above where John Neville knew his wife would be waking. He was on the spiralling stairs leading yo the dungeons, the queen of England in his arms and kissing his neck as they paused to catch breath. One step at a time they approached the bottom floor. He slammed hard against one wall, she against another as she let passion take her. They were by the right door when he grabbed the keys. "In here?" She looked nervous. He gave her no time to think. An hour before he had released George and Richard, now they grabbed her arms as he opened the door, they closed and locked it quickly. With reluctance Johnny handed the keys as promised to Richard. Walking away to a chant he had become so used to. "Traitor! Traitor!" 

Marguerite jumped as she realised she was not alone when the cold voice greeted her. "You and not he are the traitor madam." She went white as she looked into the face of her sworn enemy.


	4. Chapter 4

She must have feinted, she did not recall having done so, but she soon became aware that she was laying on a bed protected by relative warmth. She had not been there just moments ago - was it moments ago? Everything was suddenly a blur. She rolled, her dress creasing above her knee, she whimpered as her head pounded and span a little. "Did I feint?" Her voice was a whisper, one which she regretted. How had she forgotten with whom she was in the room?

"Yes, people tend to have that reaction." He smiled as he shifted his weight from one knee to the other, pulling the blanket over her a little more, protecting her from the cold. "Ah, don't move. It wont help you, keep warm."

"Do not tell me what to do!" She hissed the words, he jumped back but smiled. A slight tut was voiced as he stood and walked across the tiny cell, perching on his own bed looking at her. She lifted her head enough, seeing the blankets removed from his bed were on top of her. "Merci." She muttered the word quietly, reluctant to speak a word of thanks to the man she had long hated. He nodded acknowledgement and poured ale into the earthenware beakers left on the dusty table. 

"Drink this. You need not fear. I wont hurt you." She looked at the cup as though it contained poison, wincing as he laughed holding it closer. "Please, it isn't poisoned. Shall I drink some to prove-"

"No!" She snatched it off him, and took a sip of the ale. Her eyes went over the rim of the cup and looked to her company as he chuckled. 

"I couldn't have poisoned it if I wanted to. You made sure of that." 

"You do not want to?" She gulped down the next helping, staring at him; the hatred shifted away just a small amount softening once passionate blue eyes to lighter shade. One more pleasing Edward noted as he looked to her and shook his head. 

"T'would be a waste. To have you brought into my company simply to poison you? I could have slipped Johnny the promise of a duchy and I do not doubt he would have poisoned the wine barrel before it was carried in, or bribed the kitchen staff and have you all done. No, that would have been too easy. I wish to settle this without bloodshed."

"And so you have me kidnapped, tricked and kidnapped and my heart broken-" She stopped talking as he scoffed, turning his back to her trying to stifle the smile on his face. 

"Please, do not pretend you loved John Neville, or that you thought truly that he loved you. You killed his father and brother. He would have wanted nothing more than physical satisfaction, doubtless you knew that. With Henry being impotent-"

"How dare you talk of the king in such a way!" She stood quickly, throwing off the blankets and organising her skirts so that they fell neatly about her ankles. She would not face the Yorkist scum looking any less than official. 

"Please, it is not a secret. We are moving from the point. Without bloodshed."

"And that is why you haven't killed me I would take it?" 

"Oui." He smiled as though it had taken so much effort, as though he was trying to speak her language out of respect, out of negotiation rather than out of mockery. Margeurite had not forgotten his native roots, the French birth which had brought his paternity into question. Something she herself had never truly doubted. Cecily Neville she knew was not one to have shared a bed with a man other than her husband. However no one could deny that to his enemies, York's birth doubts were certainly convenient. 

"I do not think it is possible." 

"It is, if we want it."

"And what are your terms?"

"Drop the charge of treason." She laughed, but said nothing letting him continue as he held up his hand, once again seating himself on the bed. "You can keep your full rights, but we cannot dispute my claim. You admitted to John of your affair with Edmund Beaufort, the late Duke of Somerset." She was silent, calculating eyes trying to stare him down. Her mind was racing, why had she told John Neville about that? Why had she been so stupid as to trust the Yorkist lord? He had sided with Edward longer than his arrogant brother of Warwick. She could not trust the earl when he had fallen on his knees before her when John Neville stood in glory beside the York throne. What had made her trust him, a bout of insanity perhaps? "So." His arrogant voice broke into her thought, bringing her attention back to the room, to the present and the reality of this worsening situation. "You have no indisputable heir."

"Edouard... He is not to blame."

"If you say so." He frowned. "You will fail to convince me of that. As you have no indisputable heir and an incapable husband, you could keep it all by abdication now. After all. My cousin Henry did not remove the Act of Accord. Thus, when he dies, I am his legal heir."

"Lest something should befall you and kill you. I am not unable to poison your wine, or ale." She looked at the cup and smiled, chilled by his sudden change in humour. His serious mood changed to laughter once more. 

"I have not drunk any, you would have only poisoned yourself." Her expression turned sour. "Will you hear me now? You are entitled to your royal lifestyle, your household, husband and son. You are welcome to my cousins seat on the council. Warwick cannot be forgiven, but something there can be organised." He moved toward her, kneeling in front of her as she sat, the defeated look already appearing on her features. Stress was causing lines to form. "You cannot think to say no."

"If I do refuse you?"

"Then I promise to be out of this cell and see it to the end."

"There will be bloodshed?" He nodded in response, giving her something to think of as she read his expression. The events of 1461 would be nothing, Bloody Towton would be a minor skirmish. She saw the expression on his face, one people noted they had seen in that very year. "No. I refuse your offer, let there be bloodshed. I will not deny my son his inheritance."

"You are a fool."

"And your claim is pathetic."

"Is that your argument for lying to England? I will see to it that you are shamed! I will make sure it cannot happen." 

"How when you are dead? I will see to it that you are dead by the weeks end. You cannot trick death forever."

"You can do nothing whilst you are in here."

"When I am released, they will notice I am gone."

"Aye, but will they know who has the keys? Until then, no one will hear you scream."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am really sorry. This sort of had to happen.

"What do you mean they got out?" Warwick stood fast as the young man ran breathless to tell him the news. Even as he moved, as he knew how bad things were getting, he had not prepared for what he would see. Somerset was dead, Edouard of Lancaster too. Lancastrian lords filled hallways. Blood coated clothes. It was a massacre. His heart pounded as he saw the sight he dis not want to. William Hastings was free from his chains. Looking straight to Warwick with condemnation in his cool eyes. "Brother, how nice to see you." His eyes were cold but the tone  was ice.

"Where is he? Where is York?"

"In his cell?" The lord chamberlain of England sounded innocent. As though he knew nothing of his masters whereabouts. Denial was their strongest friend. It had ever been the way with Hastings and Edward. Neither saw anything, quite conveniently.

"You know hes not."

"I believe I told you I am under the impression that his grace is safely incarcerated in the tower. Where you left him. With the whore."

"Elizabeth?"

"Anjou. But maybe she persuaded the guards to open the doors? I honestly am clueless." He shrugged as though he was apologising. Something Warwick knew he was not.

"Who released you?"

"That could have been anyone. Didn't see their face." again with the shrug.

"You will-" He stopped as he laid eyes on the man he wanted to see. York's Tall figure stood at the end of the hall beckoning him closer, a tiny child lay swathed in his arms and if he was not much mistaken, his right hand held a knife to a kneeling mans throat. Warwick took a step forward, enough to spot Johnny kneeling at Edwards feet.

He set off at a run, hoping he would reach them before the Yorkist Bastard cut his brothers throat.

***

  
_I always knew it would come to a stand off. The hiss of steel as swords were bared and the soft trickle of blood dripping from one mans blade to the other. No man, woman or child would be free from the suffering. We tried to stop it, we tried to lessen the ambitions of others. None would listen, as though my words were foreign to these power lords. I knew it would happen, but never could I have seen that I would be the one to pay the price that should have cost them all._

  
"Stand down!" Warwick held the baby in his arms. The child's little legs desperately kicking trying to free himself from his captors grip. Edwards eyes burned fury and Warwick held the blade to the boys neck, the infant wailed whilst Bess shrieked. "Stand down or the child shall pay the price before you. And you shall still die Edward. Be wise cousin. Be wise. You have kept a queen hostage-"

"She is no queen! She is a bitch, and a murderer not to mention a whore. She admitted herself, did she not Johnny?"

All eyes fell to John Neville, the Marquess stepped forward from shadows. "What would he know about this cousin? Johnny, you know nothing of this am I not mistaken?"

"You are mistaken Dick. She told me of her affair with the late duke of Somerset. The Lancastrian line is a sham. York... Brother we have been wronged but give for amendment. I would have the true heir take the throne on Henry's death."

"And would you have Henry killed too?" Warwick sounded amazed, the blade in his hand quivering slightly as he tried to release pent up emotions he didn't wish to admit. "You have no proof he is the heir! What of George? Edward is likely a bastard of lowly birth." Warwicks eyes burned as his cousin laughed.

"Brother please, think on what you say. Tis naught less than insanity. Think our aunt, is she one to be aught be but virtuous?" Johnny stepped closer to Warwick, daring to reach and take the child from his arms. "Do not harm a babe for your ambitions. You will be damned with the blood of innocents on your hands." Warwick nodded, letting his brother take the child from him.

Warwicks hands trembled. His eyes closed. They all saw it before it came. Johnny jumped in front of Edward taking the blade to his gut without a sound. Time froze, Warwick's skin lost colour as he released the blade, pulling back. He watched his brother slip to the floor, tears leaving fading brown eyes. Finally he let out a whimper. Two enemies fell to their knees beside the man they both loved as kin. Edward took his cousins head, stroking hair from his paling face whilst Warwick tried to stop the bleeding, praying to God he had not done what he knew he had. He looked to the baby still in Johnny's arms.  To the weakening hand absent mindedly stroking the child's head. Memories of childhood long gone flooded him, filling his eyes with tears. "Johnny, you wont die. You cant. John..." Edward looked up, Warwicks voice was so laidened with loss that none could help but have heart for the man.

"leave it brother. Tis' foolish." Johnny tried to smile. Looking to both men and then the child. The precious gem in his hands. "Stop your fighting for this one. Dont spill your children's blood because you cannot agree." pain crossed his face, a grimace followed before he sucked in air trying to move. Stopped by Edwards tightened grip. "Cousin, we have all made mistakes. Dont let yours weigh too much upon your conscience. Do not become ruthless, spare those who can be. Spare me." The last two words were whispered, his hands clenched suddenly, eyes beginning to close.

"Tell me how Johnny. Dear God tell me how and I will sacrifice to spare you this." Edward began to cry as he stroked his cousins cheek bringing him back to wake. "Johnny. You've been so good to me."

"And now Im going to die." He stopped, body freezing, suddenly tears wet his lashes. "Jesu, I am going to die. Forgive me lord." His eyes looked up he tried to sketch a cross over himself, failing as his hands lost control. "Forgive mine brother also. He did not mean to sleigh me. I believe him capable of love father. Even when hate so consumes him."

"I didn't want to... John hear me I didn't..." Warwicks words were fading into sobs. Made worse as raspy breaths and gargles began to fill the gaps in speech. "I would never hurt you brother."

"Forgive each other. And let this child.... Let him be king. Dick let him be king as he deserves. Let Ned...." He didn't finish the sentence. He muttered the words of Latin prayer before his voice left him. Two minutes passed before his breaths stopped and his body stilled. Edward closed his still open eyes.

"Dick, come. Its not becoming for you to stay, I will have the Bishop of York, your brother come and bless him. But you must not stay. We will have your apartments-"

"It is your fault hes dead. That was supposed to be you!" Warwick's tears turned to sudden anger.

"Cousin, please. Do not make this worse for yourself. Your brother is among the casualties. Dont have yourself in that number."

"I do not intend to! You shall die for this though."

"Tis treason cousin. Johnny asked you not to keep up this war. Pray listen to him! Anjou has surrendered and her son is defeated. What will you do if you kill me?"

"George-"

"Will not take it. You will have an infant king. So think sensibly before you act dear cousin." Edward smiled slightly, seeing the figure emerge behind his cousin. Gloucester had his sword drawn, ready should fighting commence.

"Warwick please." for the first time in too many years Richard sounded like a young boy again. Warwick settled, memories once again controlling him until he dropped his sword.

"damn you lad I cant deny you.  What will become of me?" He turned to look at Gloucester, that boys eyes were fixed on Johnny's corpse. His skin pale and tears in his eyes.

"What happened?" He whispered the words looking to his favourite cousins lifeless form. "What happened?!"

"Dickon calm-"

"Shut up!" He held the sword to Edward turning back to Warwick. Richard of Gloucester lifted his nephew as the child cried again.

"I..."

"You killed him?" Warwick could do nothing but nod as he became the accused. Gloucesters fury was clear, Warwicks life was only spared for Edwards well timed hand. 

"Dont lad. Dont, he surrendered."

"He killed Johnny!"

"And justice will be done but not if you kill him now in cold blood!"

"I will be in the tower?" Warwick looked stricken.

"What choice is there cousin? You can live but only under those conditions. If only I can trust you.."

  
 


	6. Chapter 6

It had all happened quickly. His incarceration, his release. He had knelt before Edward spitting reluctant fealty for having no better alternative. All the while the smug York brat had looked on to him with mocking victory. His eyes had said it all though his tongue admitted nothing. "I have won, beg like the dog you are" his eyes had said. Much to Hastings delight, this was ultimate payback. Warwick walked alone through the halls of Westminster, alienated beyond redemption and utterly friendless. Even George the turncoat of Clarence heeded him no worthy attention. The occasional smile or sad expression as he skipped on by with the York supporters. 

Had Warwick truly thought he would die when all had failed? That his cousin, the boy he had teased at Ludlow, the youth he had trained in Calais and then the brother until he married that whore? No, he had known Edward, ever reluctant to spill blood, would never have the stomach to see blood spilled from his own kindred. But then Johnny. Gloucester was now a different issue. The boy he had once expected loyalty from had utterly changed sides. Had the young duke always sworn his motto to John? Not to Warwick? That thought made the Earl angry. How annoyed he had been when Richard turned his support to Edward, now to think his support had been for Johnny, he was almost glad his brother was laying cold in Westminster Abbey. He quickly repented, crossing himself and asking forgiveness from his father. Not The Father, for the holy lord was too far from Westminster where witches were queens to see his call. Instead he called to his kindred, begged his father, mother and Johnny to hear that he meant not such a betrayal to the Neville name.

The it occurred to him. Whatever would his father think to his betrayal to York? To have died in the snow at Wakefield, watching the blood flow from Thomas, Edmund and the Duke himself... Richard... A great man swiped down before his prime. Yes, that was a first, thinking of Richard the late duke of York as a great man. He truly was desperate. How he laughed at the thought. Once Edward had been the only alternative, the greater one, the dukes legacy. Now a failure, a petulant child. He had always been that, things had not changed only Warwick could see. And how he missed Edmund. For Rutland would truly have been England's most suitable royal candidate. Polite, wise and easily controlled. That was Neds problem, yes, it always had been. Even in Calais his defiance had been notable. Once it could have been helpful, now in the wake of Yorkist victory, when Warwick knew himself excluded? It was just annoying. 

He stopped his reminiscing and walked forward, signalled by William Hastings, the Chamberlain held a smug smile upon his face. More degradation was to come his way? He blinked twice as he entered the chamber, falling on his knees before the woman he least expected to see. Duchess Cecily was returned to London. "Nephew, I am at leave from Fotheringhay and shall spend the summer at Baynards."

"And let us hope we do both survive the pestilence which is sure to follow such a dire spring." He said the words with loaded respect. 

She smirked, soon ended. "Your tongue is too sharp my lord and it will see you in trouble once more. Learn to control it before my son does see it fit to remove it. Richard is at a loss of patience for you. I hear about the death of John Neville. My condolences. Though from what I hear, you are not innocent." It was like a whip to the back and cold water to the face, he shuddered. "My youngest will.hold his temper until the King says he should not. Thank the lord Edward, god bless his soul, has ever been a forgiving and patient boy. Do not force his hand where tis not necessary. Yours is one head I wish not to see adorning London as decoration this Christmas." She caught his shocked expression. "Aye tis the suggestion of those less forgiving in this court. I wished to warn you not to provoke it. I have spoken with my son the king and begged his patience for you. And Richards forgiveness is one you will have to earn. But I warn you, George is misguided but cannot be bought with gold or jewels. However great their value. I favour you nephew, but my children will always come first." She indicated that this strangest audience was over. Warwick bowed and turned, following Hastings from the room. 

"The Queen. She wants my head adorning London bridge at Christmas?"

"No my lord, that was my suggestion to his grace." Will Hastings bowed mockingly and swept his cap in good day. He left Warwick alone, heart pounding with a toxic mixture of emotions.


	7. Chapter 7

Warwick had sought audience with him. Begged was the term both Hastings and Gloucester had reported to him with extreme amusement. Already Edward had denied the man four audience requests, a fifth would be in vain. Instead, he dressed in his finest (Cloth of gold doublet with velvet detail, hose of black silk and of course, jewels to make the Earl jealous. Only kings could wear such finery). The extravagance had not ended there, but rather finished after his barber had left twenty minutes ago. Now England's king reclined in a chair before the fire in his chambers, his bootless feet resting on a velvet foot stool. He waited, looking at the burgundy wine shimmering in the silver goblet. "My lord, how truly pleasant to see you." He hadn't looked up as Warwick entered, bowing low to his king. "You have gone to much effort to be here before me and so I assume the matter is of the greatest importance."

"Yes your grace." His tone was purely formal. The once familiar, welcoming chamber was now a hostile cell. It could become a prison, a slaughterhouse or court room at any moment Edward chose. The earl was out of place, he knew he was less than welcome. 

"Sit, please, I insist. Wine? Forgive me if I do, I fear this meeting may extend itself longer than it is duly welcome. But please, make yourself comfortable." Warwick was about to sit, stopped as his King clicked his fingers, shaking his head. A young woman ran forward from the bed, dressed in a damask night gown he had bought for her. Edward poured her wine and muttered in French. She giggled and nodded. "Go on my lord." 

"Before I start, it is likely not my concern." 

"Doubtless." Edward sounded bored. "But you will have an opinion on it anyway, lets get this tiresome topic over with." Edward looked almost amused as Warwicks eyes took in the girl by the fire, sipping her wine quietly. 

"Surely she is too young for even your grace?"

He smirked and nodded."Well done Warwick. Grace here is ten, her mother died of the plague in..." He thought for a moment, interrupted by the girls quiet voice. 

"65, your grace." She offered a sad smile.

"merci cherié. Yes, the plague of 65. Tragic really, she and her brother Arthur were taken in by their grandmother. Nanoo was a lovely woman." Edward smiled as Grace chuckled. "When she died just last week the children came here. To be with their father." For a moment Warwicks expression was one of wonder. "Grace is my daughter my lord. She could not sleep in a room with Princess Bess, Mary or Cecily. Arthur is too old to share bed with her and so she came to talk to me. A bonding session you so rudely interrupted." He looked away from Warwick and to the young girl, her eyes drooping. "Cherié, you are tired. Come, sleep." He stood, walking to lift the child he carried her over to his bed. Warwick watched through the open door as he tucked her in and kissed her forehead, stroking blond hair away from her face as Warwick himself had done with Anne and Isabel. 

The king returned five minutes later. "Now you may sit, as there is no better company before you. Discuss your needs and hope I feel generous." 

"There is no greater gift to make a man generous as his daughter. Especially one so beautiful." 

"Uh huh." Was the only noise to leave Edwards mouth as both men seated themselves. 

"I want acceptance."

"I have pardoned you my lord."

"Pardoned my life, my name is still tarnished."

"I am a king not a god." He laughed. "I work laws not miracles. Your tarnished name is your own doing. Not mine. You have angered many people. Lord Hastings being just one. Did you think he would be so peabrained as to forgive you? My chamberlain has pride in plenty's." 

"You do not accept me among your ranks." 

"No. I do not. You betrayed me. Twice."

"Three times if-"

"Not helping, you are condemning yourself." He poured more wine, drank it and pushed the flagon in Warwicks direction.

"Edw, your grace, please just-"

"Give you a chance?" 

"Trust me. You did once."

"And you would have me dead if I had not the brains to know you." 

"And apologies. Please your grace I beseech you. Let me live a private life or let me join you once more."

"I want your promise."

"Promise?"

"Never to betray me again. I promise I will kill you if you do." Warwick nodded his agreement. "Then I trust your word and will see you in the council. Now dont wake my daughter on your way out." Edward watched the earl on his journey away. "Know it is nothing to do with my mothers word."


End file.
